


Back of the Net

by thalialunacy



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Community: kinkme_merlin, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Romantic Comedy, Vegetarians & Vegans, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:11:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thalialunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colin doesn't act like an omega. Bradley doesn't really care. Until he finds out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back of the Net

**Author's Note:**

> **Working title** : _UNLEASH THE COLIN_  
>  **Prompt** : from [KMM #22](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/21103.html?thread=37634159#t37634159): "He don't eat meat, but he sure like the bone." It's a reference to a fairly ~~awful~~ amazing [90s song](http://youtu.be/sEDw9xgSmSc).  
>  **Notes** : This prompt got posted in #paperlegends chat by deminos, and I couldn't let it go. HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who commented on the original thread, and who cheerleaded me in real time. Seriously, this would not have happened without you lot. Working title by albymangroves. Because Australians are life-ruiners. <3  
>  **Disclaimer** : Obviously fictional content is fictional. I don't know these people, and don't claim to, so please don't sue me. Also, don't be hatin, we just like the fuckin.  
>  **Warnings** : The usual stuff with werewolf alpha/beta/omega dynamics (dub-con, self-lubing, caste system). But seriously, this story's just porn and one-liners. Oh, and please forgive me for being American and knowing next to nil about footie.  
>  **Genre** : Comedic fluffy werewolf porn. Uh.  
>  **GUYS THERE'S (spoilery, nsfw) ART** : [HERE](http://blood-songs.tumblr.com/post/48126534267/unleashed-so-i-never-draw-rpf-at-all-but-this) by bloodsongs.

Colin Morgan is the strangest omega Bradley James has ever met.

For one, he's pants at deference. Sure, he's quiet and polite, but there's this— Well, this essence of _I call bullshit_ just underneath the surface. He makes fun of Bradley blithely, and not, although Bradley had assumed incorrectly at first, in a coy come-hither way, but in a genuine I-don't-give-a-toss-about-what-you-think sort of way.

Bradley had fumbled around awkwardly for the first while. Which was weird. He'd covered with a line or two about the accent. Which were a lie. He'd had every reason to find Colin exacerbating, and no excuse for wanting to watch everything he did with a confused look on his face.

For two, and not that Bradley's counting, Colin doesn't spread his legs for anybody. Bradley wouldn't know personally; ref point #1. But Colin's careful about his lovers, so much so that Bradley, being the big oafy trusting alpha that he is, doesn't even realise Colin _has_ any until he overhears some best boy mutter a complaint as he tries to settle into a chair in the canteen tent. Not that it's a real complaint, mind. Something along the lines of, 'Fucking ruthless. And worth every shagging second.'

This is just the first of many such things Bradley observes. Then there's the subtlety of Katie and Angel and the makeup crew starting a 'size of Colin's Wand' pool. So, subsection a) of point number 2 (again, not that Bradley's counting) is that Colin is apparently not just up for a tumble, but early and often and apparently with great aggressive skill.

Things three and four are small things, like, Colin doesn't smell like other omegas smell. Other omegas smell like sex and candy (90s pop reference notwithstanding, it's the truth), whereas Colin smells like rubber ducks and coriander (don't ask; Bradley doesn't understand it either). Colin also doesn't seem affected by the moon, which makes Bradley nervous, which in turn makes Bradley make that confused face again.

But fifth. Fifth and most ludicrous, so ludicrous that Bradley _still_ does double-takes, is this: Colin Morgan, omega, breeder, werewolf, is a bloody _vegetarian_.

And thus, clearly barking mad.

\---

So, it's a rough start. But they stumble along.

\---

"It's unnatural," Bradley says again, for about the millionth time.

"Your hair colour is unnatural," Colin says back calmly as he empties chickpeas into his food processor. "You don't see me beating you round the head for it."

"Oi!" Bradley puts a hand to his heart. "Critical hit!"

Colin shakes his head. "Fucking meat-eaters, always trying to convert a person, like there's something here that's _broken_ , when it's just a thing, a thing like not liking olives."

"I also don't understand how one could not like olives."

"And not even a choice, halfway, in my case, because cheese is my sworn enemy."

Bradley puts another crisp into his mouth. "You could still have a steak," he says around it.

Colin wrinkles his nose, which is incredibly incongruous with his normal poise. "Disgusting." 

Bradley finds himself focused on the space between Colin's eyes. "What happens if you have some?"

Colin doesn't answer at first; ostensibly he's too busy putting a tray of—What did he call them? Sweet potato patties?—into the oven. "I did do, a few years ago, and mate, I was sick for a week." He closes the oven and stands up. "Done for now."

He gets beers out of the fridge—gluten-free, because somehow his life isn't full of enough torture—and Bradley trails him into the living room, and the sofa. "I don't _understand_ , though. You're—"

"So help me God, Bradley, if you bring up being a were one more time, I will purposefully fuck up my lines next time you're in armour and we're in the rain."

"Well, now, that's just cruel."

"Don't think I won't do it." He clicks on the telly. "But really, I don't understand why you don't understand. I mean, I get it, your plodding alpha brain pokes along thinking about nothing but fucking and eating red meat—"

"You forgot eviscerating."

"Apologies. But the rest of your brain is at least moderately intelligent, and I'm sure you had lessons just like the rest of us. Omegas are different. We're—" He shrugs. "Weird."

"Yeah, but—" Bradley protests. "Not _that_ weird."

"I bet you've met vegetarian omega _girls_ before."

Bradley shrugs, his beer poised at his lips. "Well, yeah—" Then he's cut off by Colin's pointed look. "…right."

"Your gender-bias is showing."

He rolls his eyes and takes a long pull. "Yes, yes, I know, stupid alphas." He focuses on the telly, which Colin (surely accidentally) left displaying a rerun of what looks to be a pretty awesomely awful American car movie. 

"Which was Shakespeare's first history?" Colin says, out of nowhere, and Bradley would question it, but he's distracted by what's on the screen.

"Richard III. Is that Christopher Eccleston?"

"What's pi stand for?"

"The ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter, and honestly, you need to tell me if that is Christopher Eccleston, because if it is, we are watching the rest of this. Also, cars. And Angelina Jolie."

Bradley glances over at Colin to find his eyes already focused on him, not the telly. They're assessing, but warm, and Bradley tries not to fidget.

Then Colin settles back with his beer, one leg tucked under and one arm splayed out on the couch. "Point fully made." He reaches over and clinks Bradley's bottle with his own. "Cheers."

\---

It's an incredibly smooth transition. Bradley hasn't a clue how the stumbling evolved so well, so fully, but he doesn't feel anything but chuffed about it.

At first.

\---

Now, don't let's get silly here. Bradley did not wake up one morning and go, "Gosh, I'd like to shag Colin Morgan." Nor did they get drunk, or get duped into it, or any other storybook scenario.

It's actually all rather embarrassing, in the end. Nobody means to poison their best mate, after all.

\---

It takes at least two years before Colin will even answer Bradley's sex-related questions with more than just a comedic brush-off. The bloke's got about ten hundred of those stored in that magnificent brain of his, and Bradley enjoys them enough that he doesn't cotton on to their real purpose. Until Katie—bloody Katie sodding McGrath—lets out a giggle and pats Bradley on the head in that way she has. She's so loveably awkward he just lets it go per usual, but this time he looks up just in time to catch a ~significant glance between herself and Colin.

"Oi!" Bradley says. "What was that about?"

Colin clears his throat, and shrugs innocently. Bradley's not buying it this time, though.

"Oh, Bradders," Katie sing-songs unhelpfully. "Let's go for drinks tonight, yeah?"

"Katie—" Colin starts, but Bradley's feeling like she's onto something, here. They've not had a knees-up since this round of photography began, and fuck it, they're young and will recover fast.

"Not up for it?" he challenges Colin directly.

Colin waves papers at him. "I've pages."

"You've had those pages for two days, which means they're learned."

"He's got you there, love," Katie chimes in, and Bradley takes it back, she's _very_ helpful.

"Judas," Colin mutters. Then he throws down his script, and throws up his hands. "Fine. What time?"

\---

Okay, so maybe they do get drunk. But it's not what you think.

\---

"I’m not playing fucking Never Have I Ever. We are not fifteen and this is not your mum's basement and _we are not fifteen._ "

"Fifteen?" Bradley can't help but snort. "Late bloomer, were you?"

"Beg pardon," Katie says indignantly. "Fifteen is not late!"

"For a were, it is." Bradley nudges her shoulder with a grin. "We're animals in the sack."

Colin fully buries his head in his hands.

Katie laughs hard, nearly spilling her drink. "Yeah? Tell me about that, then."

Colin's head comes up rather swiftly at that. "Katie, for the love of—"

"Be glad to," Bradley says, a smirk on his face. He waggles an eyebrow. "When a mommy werewolf and a daddy werewolf love each other very much—"

"I _will_ kill you, James."

"No, you won't. _Mor_ gan."

"And don't say I only can't because I'm not a great dirty alpha."

"Well, that's also true, but I said you _won't_."

And he flashes a grin, his best shit-eating, grandmas-love-me grin, and Colin's wrath only survives the onslaught for a moment before he breaks, and shakes his head as his lips curve into dimples. Bradley feels utterly triumphant. 

Katie interrupts his moment, her hands waving about. "I don't get it, though. Bradley's all alpha—" And she makes this attempt at a menacing face and kind of 'grrrr's. "—so he kind of sleeps with whomever he wants. Colin is an omega who seems to prefer the company of gentlemen."

"Thank you for making me sound like a Victorian prostitute."

"And yet you both fuck men." And she looks at them, her eyes huge, her expression demanding.

There's a delightfully awkward silence. "…what?" Bradley finally says.

She waves her hands about some more, as if that's elucidating anything. "I do mean _fuck_ , because I've had to sit through both of you talking about _that_ particular subject."

"Ah," Colin says, visibly relaxing. "Yeah, what of it?"

Bradley, much to his chagrin, finds his neck heating up. "Do we have to?"

Katie eyes him. "Oh, so now you're not Mr Chatty. I see." She turns to Colin. "Comments from the better half?"

"Oi!"

But Colin's smiling, that sly, bashful smile of his, and how someone can be both at the same time is beyond Bradley. But Colin's sort of beyond Bradley, so. "That's right, better. I bet I'm better at it than he is."

"Oo, burn," Bradley says wryly.

"Well, there's a hypothesis that would be amusing to test out," Katie says delightedly. "I'm sure we could find some willing volunteers." She stands, and is putting a hand up to her mouth when Bradley and Colin reach out in tandem to yank her back down. "No? Well. I suppose it would be hard to find someone you both liked."

Bradley and Colin look at each other. "I dunno," Colin says casually, "I feel like we probably have the same type, actually." Bradley blinks at him. He shrugs.

"See," Katie insists, "that is what I don't understand. Colin." She pokes at him. "Colin, you are a strange omega, are you not?"

"The whole _thing_ is rather strange." Colin lifts a hand in a dismissive gesture, but he's got this tic that Bradley can see that means he's feeling awkward. So, of course, this means Bradley's going to push the point.

"That's the most pathetic non-answer I've ever heard," he says with a scoff. "You're a right loony, you are, with your toppy sexploits and your vegetarianism and your disdain for alphas."

Colin looks distinctly surprised, now. "I don't have a disdain for alphas. My mother is one."

So he just has a disdain for Bradley, then? Bradley's incredibly put off by this idea, and he's had just enough beer to wallow in it a little bit.

Katie swoops in before can get too annoying, though, pointing jabbingly at Colin. "So you've… You know." And she makes a rude gesture

"Fucked an alpha? Yeah, 'course."

Bradley snorts. "You have not."

Colin just gazes at him, then shrugs. "Believe it, don't believe it, it's the truth. Just because you're too stuck in your preconceived notions to actually give something new and interesting a go—"

"Hey, I've tried it!" Yeah, definitely had enough beer.

Colin stops short, genuinely surprised. "You have?"

Bradley smirks, trying to recover some ground. "With a girl."

Colin raises his eyes to the heavens. "Not the same thing, you complete ninny."

Bradley laughs outright. "Ninny? How old are you, eighty-seven?"

"Oh no, you're not changing the subject now." And Colin's eyes are flashing, and Bradley's not sure when they started leaning towards each other but the table's very small between them suddenly. Coriander teases at his nostrils. "You can't possibly think that having a girl fumble around with a strap-on would be the same as having a real man—a real were—show you what it's like to be fucked."

"But it wouldn't be--"

"Proper?" Colin challenges. "Who's to say what's proper? Biology only dictates so much. Experience is another matter altogether. And someone with experience could do right by you. Could show you what it's supposed to be like."

His voice is suddenly gone low, and rolling, and Bradley is warm all over and he's not sure he likes it. "But I don't have the— You know."

Colin shakes his head, his lips tilting upwards. "Don't be daft. You just need somebody to take time with you. Open you up properly, probably first with tongue, then with fingers, and help, and time. Long, Slow. All morning, like."

And wouldn't you know, Bradley's trusty alpha brain produces a really vivid mental picture of _that_. Of Colin wrapped up around Bradley, fingers between his thighs, coaxing him slowly, inexorably… 

He can feel the last shreds of his dignity falling to the floor. Colin's eyes are dark, so dark, and he wants to look away but he's stuck. The moment drags, stretches. He's afraid Colin will continue. He's more afraid he'll stop.

"So," Katie's voice interrupts brightly, shattering the silence and the mood and the everything. Thank _fuck_. "How about Arsenal's chances this year?"

\---

In the days following, Bradley totally doesn't think about it. He doesn't look at Colin out of the corner of his eye and imagine those ridiculous fingers sliding inside of him. Bradley's not had anything of the sort in a very long time, and his memory of it isn't exactly shiny, so he absolutely doesn't wonder if it'd be different with Colin. If it could be good.

By which I mean of course, fucking of _course_ , he thinks about all these things, twenty-four hours a day. He's even dreaming of dark hair and being mounted and it's possibly causing him to look a bit of a hot mess in the mornings. His days are this weird merry-go-round, a blur of capes and maille and Merlin's neckerchief and Colin's jokes and Colin acting no differently than normal.

Which is driving Bradley the most insane, he thinks. Colin is just Colin, has just proved his point and moved on. Whereas Bradley is whirring in this new gear, spinning and spinning and getting nowhere. Talk about putting your whole life's assumptions on their head, yeah? Bradley's always been very settled as an alpha, settled into being an alpha and all that entails, unerringly confident and able to relinquish power because he's so sure it's his to start with. His to dish out.

But with Colin, he might've never had it to begin with.

\---

He sees that now, sees how they are a balanced pair, a matched set, despite their stations. Two side of the same fucking coin, except bugger that shit because if his destiny is to mate with an Irish omega with an attitude problem and a tendency to method act, then he's fucked. But the point is that their friendship ticks on. It's just that routine by now, that ingrained.

They have a weekend off in Wales, miraculously, and they both decide to stay there because the rain is torrential and not letting up. Bradley is stir crazy by Sunday, and has a mad yen to play an epic practical joke. A sick, rude practical joke that he just can't resist. He's looked up things on vegetarians, and what happens if they eat meat, and it's decidedly _not_ worse than the time Colin put Ipecac in his malt. It just isn't. He's not planning on feeding him cheese or anything serious, just a bit of beef. And Bradley's not sorry.

Not yet, anyway.

And Colin, bless his heart, just goes along with it. He lets Bradley ply him with beer and feed him dinner. He believes Bradley when he says it's just really good tempeh. He even picks a movie Bradley likes, which happens once every never.

About ten minutes in, Colin makes a funny noise. Bradley side-eyes him. "All right?"

"Yeah," Colin says, looking a bit put out. "Yeah, I'll just—" He stands, and thumbs towards the toilet. "Don't worry about pausing, I've seen it."

"Wait, you have?"

And Bradley'd continue in this vein, because he's honestly surprised, but Colin suddenly stops short a little ways from the sofa, and Bradley hears him hiss a curse. He reaches out a hand to steady himself on the furniture.

Bradley is up and at his side in a moment, trying to pick one of the jovial yet triumphant lines he'd planned for this moment. "Hey," he starts, but Colin interrupts him.

"Get away."

"Beg pardon?"

"Go back to the sofa," Colin insists, then he full-on groans and wraps his arms around his belly.

"I'm not going to—Jesus, Cols." Bradley's hands wave around, trying to find where they can help, but Colin's doubled over and unreachable.

"Actually, you should—leave—" Colin manages, through clearly gritted teeth. It's a good thing Bradley speaks fluent Colin by now because a few years ago he would've been completely lost.

"Fuck off, it's my flat!" He finally lights a hand on Colin's back, because he can't not, and the skin is _scorching_ , even through a t-shirt.

Colin shakes him off. "Get out of here."

Bradley's brain is stumbling through all the possibilities. It's almost like Colin is turning, but for the first time, which isn't possible. Bradley is _so confused_. "I'm not leaving you, you idiot."

"You're the idiot. I _knew_ that wasn't tempeh." Another groan of pain cuts him off, and Bradley's more sorry than he's ever been in his _life_.

"Again, that would make _you_ the idiot," Bradley says, because banter is easy, easier than figuring out what's going—

"Bradley," Colin says, and his voice is so low it's practically a growl. "Get. Out."

"No," Bradley says stubbornly. "I did this to you, I'll stay and deal with the consequences."

Colin lets out a strangled laugh. "You don't even know what they are."

"I have a feeling, mate, and it's all right, we've been sick all over each other before, I don't see what the big fuss is."

Then Colin looks up. And several things happen at once.

a) Colin's eyes flash red. Really red. b) Bradley finally realises the whole room smells like sex and candy. c) Bradley finds himself tackled to the ground.

Instinct kicks in instantly and he's got Colin on his back before he can think about it. Then the scent envelopes him, the omega scent and the _Colin_ scent and the scent of Colin _wanting him_ , and it's new but the same and _why haven't they done this before_. 

By the time his brain stutters on, he's got his nose in the crook of Colin's neck, Colin's heels digging into his calves, they're both hard, and Bradley's life has taken a turn into bizarro world.

He struggles to pull himself out of the haze, at least a little. He's old enough and strong enough, he reasons; it shouldn't be this difficult. He sucks in a breath full of sweat and the smell of Colin, holds it in his lungs as long as possible, then pushes himself up and off, just a bit. They're still lined up from stem to stern, and Bradley fleetingly contemplates how plausible it would be to go about filming the show no further apart than this ever.

Colin allows him to raise up, but his fingers, those damnable long fingers, dig at Bradley's scapulae, tap dance down his back vertebrae by vertebrae, and Bradley wants to shout _Yes!_.

"Cols—" he says instead. "I don't—" He's cut off when Colin's hips roll into his and their cocks jerk together, hot even through layers of fabric. "Jesus. I don't understand."

Colin bares his teeth a little, his upper lip curling just enough. Then he rears up, and his lips force Bradley's open, hot and demanding.

And at the first taste, Bradley's a fucking goner. There's the coriander, and the candy, and the perfect mystery of human chemistry. He hears a complainy noise come out of the back of his throat when Colin finishes the kiss, but their bodies are still together, and Colin's hands have made their way under Bradley's jeans so it's all pretty ace.

Colin's eyes are still flashing red. "Don't you get it?" he says, his voice rough and thick as he pushes Bradley's hips up in order to shove down his jeans and pants. "Oh of course you don't, you bloody dumb alpha."

Bradley would protest, but all he can manage is to lick at Colin's bottom lip, chase the taste into his mouth. Colin kisses him back, then just holds them there, breathing the same air, and Bradley realises Colin's clothes have been rearranged too, and he can feel the heat of skin on skin. The scorching, _slick_ heat where he's settled perfectly. His pulse thunders in his ears, his chest, his cock. Everywhere.

"Every time I'm around you," Colin murmurs against his open lips, " _this_ tries to get out." He moves his hips, not enough to let Bradley in but enough to stir them both up into a frenzy. Which is clearly his intent. "You look at me, and I turn into a daft _bird_ , wanting nothing more than to sit on your cock for hours and hours, rub myself all _over_ in your scent, curl up at your side and lose myself in you." And he lets out a noise and reaches up for another kiss.

 _Fucking do it_ , Bradley wants to say. Shout. Tattoo into his skin. But he can tell Colin's got more to say, and he doesn't think he has the wherewithal to form a complete sentence, anyway, what with the slick spreading up and between their cocks, the delicious resulting slide. Bradley feels his body hurtling towards an orgasm. It's shouldn't be enough, but it seems that with Colin-- anything is possible.

Colin pulls back, panting, and Bradley feels his own lungs desperately sucking in air. He shifts his weight to his left hand and reaches down, getting his right around both their cocks loosely, just enough-- Colin gasps and Bradley thinks yeah, that's the ticket.

Colin kisses him roughly, then glares at him, and it's so incongruous he almost laughs but-- "And you know what? I fucking _hate_ that, I hate it, because I’m not your inferior, damn it. We are equals. _Equals_. Oh fucking _Christ_ \--" This last is said as he comes, as his cock pulses in Bradley's hand, and the smell and the feel and the _awareness_ chucks Bradley over the edge, too--

They ride it out together, and Bradley finds himself grinning into Colin's collarbone. He's still propped up on one arm, which protests minutely but he doesn't care. He's too busy sliding his other hand back to where Colin is wet, so wet for him he can't quite fathom it. They're both still hard, but the edges have been softened.

He leans back so he can look at Colin's face as his fingers trace new territory. Colin's gorgeous, pointy, scruffy Irish face, which, when he studies it as best he can, is marked with something new. Something Bradley can't identify. It's not anger any more, not precisely. But he does still seem rather sad.

"Cols?" he asks, hesitantly, which is fucking weird but this is _Colin_ and Colin is right, they are in this together. The matched pair.

"Oh, dear," Colin says softly, a small smile on his face. "Look what you've done."

And Bradley's not sure who he's talking to, but regardless he doesn't like the tone. He pushes his fingers inside the slick heat, kissing along Colin's jaw and neck. "What have I done? This?"

Colin shakes his head, tilting his hips instinctively to get Bradley's fingers at the best angle. He lets out a breath when it works. "No. Well, yes, that, but—"

He trails off, and Bradley doesn't like it one bit. He slips another finger in, and crooks them hard, satisfied when Colin grunts and arches up. "But what?"

"Nothing," Colin insists roughly. "Just get on with it."

"Oh, no," Bradley says. "I mean, I will get on with it—" Is in fact sliding his fingers out at that very moment and lining up his cock to take their place. "--but there's no 'nothing' now."

Colin glares again, and with his cheeks flushed and his hair all sexed out it's kind of hard to take seriously but Bradley tries his best. "You _would_ say that, you wanker." Bradley's cock teases at his entrance and he groans. "Would you just quit arsing around and fuck me already? I give in, I acquiesce, I invite you across the threshold, yadda yadda." He tightens his thighs around Bradley's torso as if to illustrate, and Bradley sends fleeting thanks to the yoga gods.

He grins, he can't help it, and leans down to kiss Colin. "Wrong supernatural being," he murmurs against Colin's lips. "And you never have to give in to me," he adds after a moment, his voice quiet. "You just have to want me."

After a moment, he feels Colin's hand slide into his hair and pull gently. Bradley budges up until their eyes meet.

"Oh, I want you," Colin says, his voice like salted caramel. He pitches his hips just so, and Bradley feels his cock start to slide inexorably inwards. He grits his teeth and stays still, because Colin's still talking. "I want you so much it fucks with my head." He gives a little smile, and takes Bradley in another inch. Bradley can feel the sweat prickling on his skin and he wants so badly to just shove in, wrap Colin around him, and _go_. "I want you to knot me for days, until we both can't stay awake. I want to spread you out and write homage to your skin with my tongue. I want to— Fuck, _yes_."

Because Bradley's all the way in, and it's—it's— He doesn't have words for it. It's beyond any expectations, any experiences. It's fucking perfect, and it's all there is.

"So," he manages after a moment of gathering himself, "if I support all those notions, why do you still look like I've taken away your favourite chew toy?"

"Cad." Colin's nails scratch up his back, and Bradley stutters into him, then starts sliding in and out, just little thrusts at first. Colin reacts smoothly, moving with him, and Bradley's mind marvels.

He leans down for a kiss, and it escalates quickly. "Colin," he says desperately, "I need you to answer before I get to fucking you and we both forget the question. What have I done?"

Colin closes his eyes. His jaw is tense, too tense, and Bradley trails kisses along it. "Fine," he finally says, "but you asked for it, yeah?" Bradley nods, but Colin's off and running. "That's the whole problem. I knew, _knew_ the moment I met you, that if you ever asked for anything, any one thing, I wouldn't be able to stop from giving you _everything_. So now, here we are, and you've asked for only this one thing, but--" And his smile becomes crooked.

Bradley's chest is so full it's going to burst. He leans down, trying not to shake, and kisses Colin firmly. "Cols. For such a fucking genius, you're an idiot. My plan directly after this involves figuring out how all your books are going to fit on shelves with all my trophies. And what my mum is going to say when she learns her son has mated with an _Irishman_. You have no idea, seriously, she thinks you lot are all magical sprites or something. And I should shut up now, shouldn't I?"

Because Colin has stilled completely, his eyes tight on Bradley's. He searches his face for long, tense moments, and Bradley can only hope that his big dumb alpha heart is as out there on his sleeve as it always is. "You're serious?"

"Colin, yes." He wants to shake him. He wants to gather him up and get inside him so far he never finds his way back out. "You're—you're fucking perfect. This—" He gestures between them rather haphazardly. "—is fucking amazing. It always has been and now there's _this_ and nobody else could ever, ever come close." He lets himself smile, the joy spilling out of hum. "Just face it. This one's in the back of the net, mate."

Colin huffs out a groan, but he can't hide the grin that's spreading across his face. His hands slide warmly across Bradley's back and gather him in, even as his head tips back with laughter. "Oh my God. I've mated with a bloody footballer. _My_ mother will be positively _appalled_."

Bradley eyes the newly-exposed neck, his pulse linking up with the beat he sees there. "No more talk of mothers," he says, leaning down to map a path between Colin's mouth and his chest, taking care with that neck, littering it with marks because Colin is _his_ and that's it, that's the full ninety. "In fact," he says as his hips start to move again, "no more talk at all."

Colin grins, he can feel it, and starts to move with him, which is pretty bloody encouraging. Shallow thrusts at first, as he gets the lay of the land, secures Colin's legs around him. The slide is delicious, the heat and the wet and the friction, and he's going to drown in the scent if he's not careful.

Not that he has to be careful. "Move along, English," Colin mutters in his ear. "I won't break."

Bradley chuckles. "No, you won't, will you? Hmm." He shifts a little, grabs Colin's hands until they're spread out and pinned down, and begins to fuck him in earnest. Still slowly, but deeply, trying to find—

" _Fuck_ ," Colin hisses. Bradley grins, and speeds up.

It's different, with Colin. It's the same in the useful ways, so Bradley knows when to change up the rhythm, when to shift just before his calf cramps up, you know. But Colin's brand new in all sorts of intriguing ways: the plane of his joints, the muffled noises making their way past bitten lips, the fact that when his mouth makes a certain shape, Bradley just has to kiss him.

He feels the ability to multitask fading, though, as the animal instincts kick in. The smells around him, of Colin's sweat and Colin's seminal fluids, mix with Bradley's own and make them new again, and the heat rushes in his veins and rushes out all coherent thought besides _now now now_ and _deeper deeper deeper_.

Then Colin clutches in a new way at his back, and whines low in his throat, and Bradley realises that his knot is already up. "Jesus fuck, Cols," he says, his voice so low he barely recognises it. "See what you do to me?"

Colin's answer is to grip him strongly, fuck back at him with snapping hips, and kiss the living shit out of him. Bradley's alright with that response, and very, very soon, he is simply lost.

"B—Bradley—holy fuck—" Is all Colin manages as warning before he comes, untouched, just from being fucked, spurting all over his chest, Bradley's belly, his own chin even a little. Cursing all the while, a blue Irish streak of swears, some of which even Bradley can't translate, and Bradley can't stand how fucking much he loves this man. He leans in to taste it, kissing and licking a path from chin to cheek to eyebrow to mouth, finally to mouth.

And he's breathing Colin's hot, sticky air as his own orgasm washes over him, his knot releasing what will probably end up a ridiculous lot of semen into Colin, his whole body clenching around his mate, holding him in, holding them together as if to merge them back into one piece.

And he feels it, feels it in his marrow. Bradley's heart splits apart, and then comes back together brand new.

\---

He's plotzed for a few minutes, flat out unable to move. He's fixed inside Colin, comfortably hard and pulsing out semen lazily. He hopes it lasts all afternoon, even though he knows that's not really possible and would actually lead to dehydration and a rotten time all around.

He decides instead to just enjoy it while he can, and turns his head to kiss at Colin's jaw. Colin grunts and snuffles into him, then pushes at him. "Just—hang on—" And he fairly manhandles Bradley until—yoga skills coming in _very_ handy—they're spooned up, Bradley trailing his lips lazily on every bit of skin he can reach, his hands around Colin's hip and under Colin's neck, stroking where they can. Not to titillate, just to be there.

"So," he says casually, once the haze is passed and his knot is finally starting to recede, and Colin's starting to smell more like rubber ducks and less like candy. "That's why the no meat?"

Colin huffs into his arm. "Fucking arsehole."

"Hey, it gave me this outcome, I will forever be grateful."

"Yes, yes, lovely, but if you ever do it again, I'll…" Colin struggles to come up with a good threat, then finally just waves a hand around. "Something awful. I'll do something awful."

"Is it that bad?"

"Ugh, it feels like being in heat. Totally out of control and useless. It's dead awful."

"Well. I can't say as that sounds fun, but I do like you like this, all fucked up about me."

Colin reaches over and slugs him, sort of. "Shut up."

But Bradley's on a roll. "Next time, we add in you fucking me, and we'll have a were hat trick."

"That's it," Colin says, covering Bradley's face with one palm and pushing him onto his back. "I'm going to kill you."

Bradley laughs and grabs him on the way over, pulling at him until they're in a really undignified pile of knees and clothes and totally unsexy sex-fluids. He kisses at the parts of Colin he can reach, which is somehow an elbow and a forehead, and grins, nosing in, breathing in. Settling in.

"Love you, too."

 ** _end_** ~~finally~~


End file.
